TheSarahEffecthttp://www.thesaraheffect.org
My take on anything and everything. My husband thinks I'm a good storyteller but that's just his opinion. Why don't you join me on this ride and find out for yourself!Fri, 27 Oct 2017 07:27:50 +0000en-UShourly1https://wordpress.org/?v=4.9.1109105688Oh, the places you’ll go!http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=90
http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=90#commentsFri, 27 Oct 2017 07:27:50 +0000http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=90Continue Reading]]>Happy birthday to the most awesome boy I know!!

You are 7 today my darling beta and we can hardly believe it. We love how feisty, kind, brave, funny and nerdy you are and have the biggest heart. We are so very lucky to be your parents!

You were most patient while we stumbled along the road to parenthood. It has definitely been a learning curve, lots of trials and errors and despite us never being sure of ourselves, your look of adoration and blind trust got us through. It did help that you didn’t have any choice in that regard.

You have challenged us in ways we never thought was possible and have definitely helped us grow into better human beings. Specially when you tell me to calm down when I’m on the verge of losing my patience countless times in the day.

Most importantly, you have taught us how to deal calmly with unreasonable people, big or small; your toddler years have been proof of that.

At 3 years of age your insistence to wear your jammies to preschool to which no amount of reasoning or cajoling on my part could convince you otherwise.

2. At 3, dressed as a superman at 12 am. Me: “It’s late, let’s go to sleep.” You indignantly: “Superman doesn’t sleep!” I could not argue with that.

3. At 4, I cannot forget your huge tantrum on why we picked you up from school in the car instead of letting you go in the school bus. No amount of reasoning helped but we did get out of that one by bringing Biryani to the negotiating table.

4. In April 2015, I took you for your first movie experience and this is how we went: Tickets: 35 aed Popcorn: 35 aed. Your insistence that you’re a boy and the look on faces of those poor men when I had to run after you in the men’s restroom: Priceless

I might need therapy to get over that one.

5. At 5, got you a cycle and took you down. A: I don’t like cycling. Me: So don’t do it. A: No, but I want to!

7. Dinosaur obsession time. Me: “A, Baba & I got married 9 years ago today.” A: Wow that’s a long time ago, did you guys see any fossils?”

8. At 6 you got your obsession of science and solar system and have been consistently going around telling everyone that you want to be a scientist. I hope you can be whatever you want to be. The fact that you’re ready to lecture all and sundry on above topics bodes well for your future, can’t say much about the people on the receiving end of your lectures though. Your eagerness to impart knowledge is not always met with the same enthusiasm.

9. My favorite moment with you so far has been at 6 when you prayed for a baby sister and had even thought of a name for her!

10. When M explained to you that you always have to listen to me because heaven lies under mother’s feet. The entire next week you called me “Feet of heaven”

11. When our goldfish died and you insisted on examining it with a magnifying glass because “I have to explore mama!” No amount of cringing on my part made a difference. And then you flushed it and prayed, “Allah Mia, please help the sharks to get this food.” Because you know, someone has to look out for those poor sharks out there too.

12. Oh and yesterday at a store, you went up to a woman and asked “Hey, where are you from? What’s your name?” The poor woman told you the details and when she asked you the same you said, “I’m sorry I cannot tell you that, you’re a stranger and I have to be cyber smart!”

13. At 7, your newest fad is Captain Underpants. You have been inspired to write your own comic book because of it and the other day when you came to me and said so matter of factly, “Let’s go give this to Borders so they can sell this Mama”

I did not have the heart to explain the publishing world to you. At the tender age of 7, your simplistic world view is so endearing. I love the amount of inquisitiveness and marvel you have tinged with naïvety. Even though you’ll come to know the real world soon enough, I hope and pray may you never lose your wonder.

On this momentous occasion, I write this in the hope that you can read it in future (or today) and enjoy it as much as we have enjoyed these moments with you.

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.
-Dr. Seuss

]]>http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?feed=rss2&p=90290Of romance and horse drawn carriageshttp://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=74
http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=74#commentsMon, 30 Jan 2017 19:16:50 +0000http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=74Continue Reading]]>It was the summer of 1992 and as usual we were all gathered at Nani Ma’s place. It was one of those glorious July days that Karachi witnesses once a year; overcast skies, cool monsoon winds, no sign of humidity (frizz-free hair yay!) and the trees and shrubs looking actually green. We have all seen such days, nowadays you find out about them on facebook but back then we just used to hang out on the terrace to soak up the atmosphere.

So, here we were enjoying a pleasant summer’s day when obviously the electricity went out as soon as it started drizzling. Everyone let out a collective groan and started the usual KESC bashing fest accompanied by copious amounts of tea for the grown ups- national pastime and what not. Soon we decided that it was a perfect day to head out and naturally ran to my mamoon to eat his head up, begging him to take us out. My poor mamoon was no match for 10 shrilly children of various sizes and their equally shrilly Ammas; needless to say we were ready to go to Frere Hall in a few minutes and because my cousins cannot bear to be separated for even one second (the tragedy!), my mamoon went and hired two Victorias (Ghora Gari) for us all. If you have not sat in these relics of British colonial times then you don’t know what you’re missing. It’s a wonderful ride, the carriage has a hood but it’s not closed thus open to the elements.I can never forget the excitement of sitting in it, all of us squashed together, the bumps, the clip clop of the horse’s hooves, our incessant chatter and non stop laughter and last but not the least the hilarious stares we got from other people at the signals.

Ghora Gari at Pakistan Chowk

Childhood wonders are magical things and they can come back to you in such different ways. 15 years later I met M and we were about to get married. Two weeks before our Nikkah he told me he was coming to take me somewhere special (apparently he had already told my Ammi and sister about his plans). He turned up that hot day in March with a wide grin on his face and a Victoria standing behind him. M: “Your chariot awaits” Me; “Wha?! How?! Umm here???”

As the adult in me grappled to find words, my inner child jumped with joy and rudely shoved the adult aside; and as I gleefully stepped onto it, I looked back to see all my wonderful old childhood memories eager to mingle with the new ones I was about to make on the very exciting albeit terrifying journey called marriage.

He took me for a 15 minute ride that day and while all the uncles and aunties on the road stared, we couldn’t stop laughing. That was the moment I realized how perfect he was for me. His inner child is as playful as mine and life’s adventures are so much more interesting when you have someone like that by your side. As we approach our 9 year anniversary this March, I want to say Thank you M, I can never blame you for being boring; exasperating yes, infuriating maybe, annoying alot but never boring. Here’s to an infinite amount of togetherness filled with joy and lots more craziness.

Facts: Victorias are old relics of the British colonial times and are still present to this day in various old parts of Karachi, carrying schoolchildren to and fro. These are French style open carriages, imported to Great Britain by the then Prince of Wales in 1869 and consequently exported to the subcontinent. It’s featured widely in the iconic song “Bandar Road se Kemari” sung by Ahmed Rushdi, his first hit song for Radio Pakistan.

An Atif Aslam concert made headlines recently about some men’s ugly behaviour towards the women in the crowd. Atif Aslam had to stop the concert and intervene on the girl’s behalf and apparently it was sorted. As the expected outrage poured in, there were some elements of our society which started blaming the girl for this harassment. I was shocked to see that this judgment came from other women. A tweet that started circulating actually tried to trivialize the guy’s behavior, calling it “no big deal” and actually had the nerve to say that the girl shouldn’t have gone to a concert since this is what happens at them. Umm really? Have we really become so insensitive to the wrongdoings in our society that we accept harassment as the norm?!?!

To all these women I say this. Today I am going to judge you. If you are going to do victim shaming and blaming then you are equally responsible as these men. If your mentality is that “boys will be boys” and “men will be men” then you do a great disservice to the rest of the male population who is decent. You insult my father, my brother, my husband and all the rest of the men in my family who have never done these abhorrent things and most likely won’t ever do.

If you as a woman, ever ignores such types of cases and actually says “boys will be boys” then I am sorry but you are part of the toxic patriarchy and misogyny prevalent in our society and fall into the following category:

You are going to become the mother who will control her daughters but turn a blind eye to her son’s activities

You are going to become the mother in law who will tell her abused daughter in law that, “Control your thoughts and tongue. Aurat zabaan chalati hai tabhi mard ka haath uthta hai” umm how do I say this? NO Aunty! Just No!

You are going to become the society which accuses the woman for all sorts of problems ranging from divorce, infertility, money problems etc etc. Not realizing that your interference is what causes half the problems in the first place . This part of the society comes up with gems like “zara sa bardasht kerleiti tou kia hojata” chahe jootay kha rahi ho larki.

(Please don’t take this in the wrong way. I am not talking about petty issues which occur in marriages and which can be compromised upon.)

My point is if you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem. These are serious matters, do we really want to live in a society where it is accepted that public areas cannot be safe for us and our future generations? Why do we still have the mentality that accepts these elements? How about I will try my utmost to raise my son in the manner that he will become a productive part of the society where everyone will be safe from him and you raise daughters who are strong enough to know their rights, who can go out and call out these criminal behaviours if they occur. How about we lay down a platform with laws in place that make sure these things don’t happen again?

Enough is enough. I don’t want to accept the status quo and I will not let my son accept it either. Our future generations deserve better than this and the time is now to change things. I know I might sound like an impractical person to you, I am a dreamer and this sounds like a pipe dream which might not happen in my lifetime, but I will go down fighting this mentality and these attitudes. This is not me and I know there are thousands like me out there.

Take the small steps and imagine the legacy we can leave behind.

]]>http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?feed=rss2&p=67067For the love of home & good foodhttp://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=45
http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=45#commentsTue, 16 Aug 2016 22:56:24 +0000http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=45Continue Reading]]>I read The Kite Runner back in 2005 and fell in love. The depiction of life in Afghanistan pre-Russia and pre-Taliban mesmerized me. Khaled Hosseini has this amazing ability to draw you in; I disappeared inside and Amir took me along his journey. It is a book about friendship, kinship, betrayal, guilt and ultimately redemption. The Afghan culture, their language, Amir’s azizam Baba joon and Hassan, everything fascinated me, but the thing that gripped me most was the haunting loss of a country so beautiful and the slow death of a culture so vibrant; it put a constant ache in my heart.

Usually I always go back and reread a book that I love but in this case I couldn’t as I had borrowed it from a library so I kind of forgot about it. It all came rushing back to me last year when I saw its movie adaptation for the first time. Obviously it is a much abridged version but I wasn’t disappointed, I felt the characters were as I’d imagined them and that beautiful gorgeous Dari was as melodious as I had thought it would be. I cried at the scene where Amir’s Baba picks up some of his home soil for safe keeping not knowing when he will touch his mitti again; it was such a poignant moment. More so for me since I had become an ex-pat recently. I was homesick, plain and simple. But my heart cried for Amr, his Baba and the millions of Afghan refugees who had to leave their homes with no hope of returning, their futures uncertain and their loss irreplaceable, all because of pointless and senseless wars raging through their lands.

That movie stayed with me for a few weeks, I downloaded the book on my Kindle and started reading it again. After a few weeks M switched jobs and we had to move from Sharjah to Dubai. When we told our landlord, he invited us over for lunch to his home and imagine my delight when I found out they were Afghans. Our hosts were gracious and couldn’t have been more hospitable. We were worried about the language barrier but we needn’t have because Uncle’s wife was from Peshawar so they all knew a bit of Urdu. They offered us fresh and dried fruits first and then came the main meal which was definitely a feast fit for a king; their food is divine. If you ever want a taste of authentic Afghan cuisine, then I suggest you make some Afghan friends and ask them to cook for you. No restaurant can ever compete with their home cooking. There were delicious salads, full of flavor, juicy red pomegranate seeds and apples. The piping hot Kabuli pulao with a generous sprinkling of jeweled sultanas, rich lamb curries garnished with fresh coriander and last but not the least Borani Banjan– a dish that has become so very dear to me; I cannot have enough of it. It is so simple and yet the complexity of its layers gives the most delish explosion in your mouth. The cold garlicky & minty yogurt dip is the perfect contrast to the tangy tomatoes and earthy taste of those royal eggplants. Among all those delicious dishes that day, Borani Banjan spoke the most to me and I begged Aunty to give me the recipe right there and then.

Baingan Borani

Now every time I get homesick, I cook it; case in point today, two days after I have come back from Karachi. I know I’m weird, I cook an Afghan dish while missing my home in Pakistan but in the current climate of grief when for the first time ever I didn’t feel like celebrating 14th August, I thought of all those around the world who don’t have a home to go back to and I felt, in my cynicism, I was being ungrateful. I know my country is flawed, exasperating at times (read: A LOT of times), broken down but never beaten. Alhamdulillah for that.

So I suggest you go read The Kite Runner if you haven’t; if you have and are not a fan, I urge you to do the grocery run and start cooking. While cooking, have a listen to the lovely Francoise Hardy’s “La maison ou j’ai grandi” or “Tous les garcons et les filles” which is what I imagine would have played in the background at Amir’s Baba’s dinner parties. Think of the bright and loud bazaars of Kabul, the colorful kites flying high, the food festivals; think of simple times, sit down with your friends & family, give a little prayer of thanks and mop up that gorgeous Borani with a fresh, warm crusty loaf of French bread. And when you do, you will realize how food is the universal language of love; and how it can effortlessly fuse cultures that on the surface seem poles apart.

Francoise Hardy

Borani Baingan:
Ingredients:
2 medium eggplants
2 tsp oil for cooking
2 large tomatoes diced
1/2 tsp red chilli powder
1/2 tsp coriander powder
1/2 tsp roasted cumin powder
1/4 tsp turmeric
Oil for frying (you can brush eggplants with oil and bake them)
1 tsp chopped garlic
1/2 tsp dried mint
Fresh mint leaves for garnishingFor Yogurt Dip:
1 cup yogurt
1 tsp crushed garlic
2 tbsp fresh mint leavesMethod:
Make yogurt sauce, mix all ingredients and refrigerateMake baingan:
1. Cut eggplants in 1/2 inch think round slices
2. Sprinkle slices liberally with salt and leave them to ooze water. Then pat them dry
3. Heat oil in a skillet/shallow karahi and fry the slices a few at a time and set them aside
But don’t cook them completely. They should be firm in the middle
4. When they’re done, put 2 tsp oil in the same pan, add in garlic, sauté and add tomatoes before the garlic turns brown
5. Cook until they’re soft, add dhaniya, zeera, lal mirch powder and haldi. Stir and cook till the spices are mixed well.
6. Now arrange half the egg plants in the same pan to cover surface of it
7. Arrange cooked tomatoes on top. Repeat with another layer of eggplants and remaining tomatoes
8. Add 1/4 cup water and cover with a tight lid
9. Cook on low medium heat for 20 min and check if it is done. Should be a soft texture.To serve:
Spread some of the yogurt sauce on to the bottom of the serving dish
Top with eggplant stack, lift the stack carefully. Top with the rest of the yogurt. Sprinkle dried mint
Heat 2 tsp oil, when hot add 1/4 tsp red chilli powder remove from heat immediately and pour it on top.
Finally garnish with fresh mint leaves.

]]>http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?feed=rss2&p=451445Of blood ties & sisterhoodhttp://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=32
http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=32#commentsThu, 07 Apr 2016 09:03:38 +0000http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=32Continue Reading]]>Hafsa & I were born exactly 11 months apart, me on 19th June and she followed on the 19th of May the year after. Our moms are sisters and extremely close to each other; hence the deep bond we had was always meant to be.

My earliest memory of her is what our moms told us – I was around 2 years old and had just started to talk albeit not very clearly. She must’ve been around a year old (chubby and cute) She was crawling around when suddenly she just got up and started to walk. My mom says when I saw that, I simply could not contain my wonder and excitement. I pointed to her and squealed, “Baby bado (bhaago)! Baby bado!!!” (Meaning to say “Look everyone, baby’s running!) Our Mamoon fondly called her his “Paado” (fat in Memoni)– A nickname we loved to tease her with. Obviously I like to think they derived it from my “Baby bado”.

I have so many memories with her that I don’t know where to begin. She was my first friend and our weekly trips to Nanima’s helped make our sisterhood knot tighter and stronger. There are quite a few of us but it was always the trio of Hafsa, Fariha and me; we did everything together- from playing together to holding picnics, wearing similar clothes, to dancing at our various Mamoons’ and Khalas’ weddings. She was always my dance partner. We even slept side by side during sleepovers. I specially remember the night after we saw Child’s Play, we didn’t let go of each other’s hand the entire night. We loved our sleepovers. We couldn’t stop talking until the wee hours of the night and the next day we would wake up shrieking at 7 am when my Nana would be sprinkling ice cold water over us. He didn’t like us to sleep late. That didn’t deter us cousins though. We would simply get up and run into another room or complain to Nani Ma. She would defend us in front of him but scold us afterwards and that just made it funnier for us. I remember that we never had fancy toys to play with at our Nani’s so we used to come up with our own silly games. Our favorite was when we would look up at the ceiling fan, spread our arms wide and go round and round and round until we got dizzy and would collapse in a fit of giggles. We did that last year too. Her inner child was as crazy as mine. Throughout the years, all of us cousins would sit and recall that icy water, the twinkle in my Nana’s eyes and the tirade that my Nani would launch at us while we laughed.. The knot kept getting stronger. A new person was never able to tell who was whose kid as we are all so close to each other. I never needed a large group of friends at school because our happy place was right there at home.

As we grew up and got busier in our lives, the long and lazy summer days spent at my Nani’s shortened. But they were replaced with endless shopping trips, going out for Chaat and Pakola, enjoying khatti laal badaam sprinkled with chaat masala and lemon juice from the amrood wala or simply hanging out at each other’s places, reminiscing about those hot afternoons, namkeen lassi, aam ka rus and Aalo Gosht our Nani used to make for us. We loved talking about the crazy breakfasts we used to have back in the day too. Our poor Khala had to deal with 7 hungry and loud children with their various farmaishain. Kudos to her for making our childhood so magical with the love she showered on us.

When the time came for Hafsa to choose her major, she came to me. Whenever I needed advice, I turned to her. During our university years, we looked for ways to spend time together. We HAD to fill the other up with what was going on. Over the years we’ve shared countless secrets, gossip, jokes and laughter. We sounded like a laughter track in a sitcom. Our moms would keep giving us the Stare when we would laugh out loud and that just made us laugh harder. We all understood what the other was saying without having to make sense.

She was there for me throughout my wedding. We spent countless hours poring over magazines to find the perfect color combination. She even took a day off for my graduation. Whenever I think of a big or small occasion of my life, I see her standing by my side. I realized later on that she was everyone’s confidante and friend and not just mine. She had that knack for listening and possessed an envious amount of empathy. How she managed to be there for everyone around her is beyond me.

I saw her do all that along with achieving accolades in her professional life. Hers is a success story I love to recount. She memorized the Quran at the young age of 17, did D.Pharmacy, finished MBA with honors while working, got promoted and travelled around the world- all within the last 5 years. She did all this along with keeping in touch with all those close to her, being there for them-her friends will vouch for that, and being close to Allah SWT. That last part is the secret to her success of course. I used to ask her why she is in such a hurry to do everything at once. Well, now I know.

She was younger than me and yet so much wiser. I have turned to her for advice numerous times and she never disappointed.

Who will I call now? Who will tease our Khalas and who will laugh, hysterically for no reason, with me now? Who will count with me how many eggs we used to eat for breakfast? Who would go with me looking for laal badaam in a scorching Karachi afternoon just to fulfill a craving?

I always promised myself that I will somehow repay her for all that she’s done for me over the years. But she never even gave me a chance. She went; her smiling and ever laughing face seared in my mind.

And just like all those years ago, when I saw her take her first steps, I find I am still an onlooker, while she runs ahead with leaps and bounds and ventures into the hereafter.

I love you Hafsa, and I shall miss you and remember you with every fibre of my being. You were and always will be an integral thread in the warm and fuzzy blanket that is the memories of our childhood. May Allah SWT give you the best abode in Jannah and elevate your status. May He ease our pain that has come with the void that you have left in our lives. Ameen

]]>http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?feed=rss2&p=321532Old endings and new beginningshttp://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=22
http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=22#commentsMon, 28 Mar 2016 11:11:34 +0000http://www.thesaraheffect.org/?p=22Continue Reading]]>I am a middle child. So is M (hubster) for that matter. I think that’s what we must have bonded over. Our dukhbhari kahani of a childhood filled with negotiations and compromises. Because that is what a middle child ultimately faces, doesn’t he? “It’s okay, woh bari hain na?” or “It’s okay, woh chota hai na?”

My sister disagrees. But she is 4 years older than me and had all the privileges of a first born. I was 3 and a half years old when our baby brother was born. That means for 3 and a half glorious years that I hardly remember, I was the youngest!

Growing up I wanted everything that my sister had or did. Her stationery stash was the stuff a 6 year old’s dreams are made of. I always wanted to play with her things. It didn’t help that I was super clumsy and broke a lot of things. It annoyed her to no end and she was pretty vocal about it. Just like a typical sister relationship. We used to watch a lot of Full House back then and relate to. That made our brother Michelle, but we were pretty ok with that.

I was 4 years old when our family went on a trip to Northern Pakistan. My first cross country train trip. We were a large group of people travelling together, my grandparents, 2 phuppos, a mamoon, few cousins and a manservant. Trust me; it was exactly like Full House. It was loud and chaotic and simply wonderful. I get a warm fuzzy feeling just thinking about it.

My sister was lucky that she had company in the form of a cousin of ours. They did everything together and were old enough to play Ludo, Uno and various card games. Most of which I didn’t understand. They would pair up and leave me alone. They weren’t mean as such but to a pesky 4 year old, even once or twice a day seemed a lot. It was beyond tragic. I was inconsolable. I desperately wanted to belong to that clique!

I still remember when we left Abbotabad and were en route to Murree. On the way, we stopped at a bustling marketplace. Lots of colors and lots more noise, hawkers advertising their wares, dhaba chai being passed around in shot glasses and the scent of peshawari karahi lingering in the air. My dad bought all of us sunhats. You know, those straw hats with wide brims? I was overjoyed. I loved it! Mine even had a silk bow. We traveled on in one of those half open jeeps or was it a truck? (Please excuse my 4 year old self’s hazy memory). It was quite windy. Suddenly a gust of wind came and with a whoosh! my sister and cousin’s hats were gone! Sailing through the valley like two kites without a string. Everyone laughed and settled back. I looked over and saw them both laughing and talking about it and felt quite left out. I did what any sane 4 yr old would have done next. I took my hat off and threw it out of the jeep like a Frisbee. Everyone thought that was quite silly of me but I didn’t care. Now I could talk about it with my sister too.

As fate would have it, my son is two and a half years older to my sister’s son. We are quite lucky to live close to each other. When I see our 2 boys hanging out, I see myself in my nephew. I can totally relate to him. He is now the pesky little brother following my son around, wanting to do and play with the same things that A has. Oh and he is as clumsy as I was if not more. He annoys A, repeats everything he says and tries to snatch things from him. Of course he’s smaller so doesn’t succeed much but he knows other ways to get under A’s skin. It’s quite endearing but then when I see A, I see my sister in an entirely different light.

I now completely understand where she was coming from. A has so much of her in him. He is more serious by nature, takes a lot more care of his toys and stuff, is quite content in his own company and has a love for reading as fierce as hers. They are extremely close to each other as well. She really gets him. Whereas Asad is the funny, totally silly, completely chaotic and whimsical child who has a knack for looking angelic after doing something naughty. They are poles apart and yet inseparable. A is the older brother teaching Asad ways of the world and Asad makes A laugh and let go of his fears. They need each other in the same way I know now I needed my sister and she needed me.

Looking at them, I have learnt that our own children have so much to teach us about ourselves. As a referee to these 2, I get a new found appreciation for my own childhood and a feeling of pure joy like no other.

“Like branches on a tree we grow in different directions yet our roots remain as one. Each of our lives will always be a special part of the other.”
― Anonymous

I have always loved this quote. I can look at it and ponder on its meaning for hours. It overwhelms me because it came to me in Grade 10, in my autograph book, quoted by my principal, Ms. Mavalvala. If you’re a mamaian you would know what I’m talking about. She was the great Iron Lady who ruled our school and put fear into our hearts. Seriously, one’s legs turned to jelly when she was around.

A few years ago I came across her at a friend’s wedding. Me, newly married, in my slinky chiffon sari, open hair and red lipstick. I said hello to her and she greeted me warmly but the schoolgirl inside me could only cringe and have a panic attack thinking “OH GOD! Is my hair okay? Are my nails cut? Are my shoes polished?!” We all secretly felt she would one day perhaps take over our country and kick out all the politicians. Alas that didn’t happen.

Ms Zarine T. Mavalvala with the Students’ Council 2001-2002

Hence I was truly inspired and awed when she wrote this in my swirly girly autograph book.

As far back as I can remember, my childhood has been filled with stories. I remember countless Sunday mornings, while waiting for the big family breakfast, the smell of halwa puri wafting through the air and all the kids gathered around my grandfather (sent by our respective mothers to get us out of the way I’m sure). These were the days devoid of Ipads, smartphones and general electronics ofcourse.

Now he was a master storyteller. We would all sit and look at him wide-eyed, as he told us story after story. They would be different, but there was always a shehzadi, a pari, a jinn, a tota or myna and a shehzada who would face countless obstacles to save the princess. Other times he would tell us detective stories, of kids who had courage and resilience, who could face any danger or ghosts for that matter, and do it in such a fun way as to outsmart all the grown ups around them.

I so wanted to be one of those kids. I would go around all the spooky corners of our school looking up or down at hundred year old oak trees in a desperate attempt to come across jinns/fairies or buried treasure. Whatever that week’s fantasy story had been.

When we started reading on our own, my grandfather introduced us to Hamdard Nonehaal, a small Urdu magazine for kids. That’s where my love for Urdu novels really started. My home was filled with avid readers. You would have a hard time finding anyone to talk to post 10 pm as everybody would be immersed in a book.

Along the years, I found infinite gems from the literary world. (There will be a separate post for that) But those stories that my Dada told will always hold a special place in my heart. After we outgrew stories from Koh-e-Qaaf, he would tell us Qissas (stories) from his youth. The days of partition, their efforts, the independence day parade he took part in and where he saw Quaid e Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah for the first time. We got the intense patriotism from him in virasat.

He had truly mastered the art of Qissa-goyi (storytelling). He simply drew you in. Be it a fact or an artifact in the house, he could tell you the history behind it and you would beg him to share it with you.

He made me believe that everyone has stories to tell. And so, as I start on this exciting albeit terrifying new journey in the blogging world, I see it fitting that my first post should be a tribute to the man who has been most influential into shaping who I am today. My grandfather, my inspiration, my hero. Love you Dada, miss you always.